Absolution
by Caleigho Meer
Summary: The price to be paid. The missile scene
1. Chapter 1

It didn't matter how many times he had come close to dying. It was never familiar, it never got old, and it never got easier. He had heard the phrase "going down in a blaze of glory," and _this_ would be the literal fulfillment. A few minutes ago, he had been cart-wheeling the propeller of the massive warship to keep the monolithic thing in the sky. The engine had choked, but roared to life, and the ship at last soared. Stark remembered that savage, empty release as he had relinquished his grip from the metal and almost gently surrendered the ship to the sky. It was almost jarring to see that ship float as languidly as a leaf on water. Through the earpiece in his helmet, he could hear the crew's applause, prayers to God and bewildered rejoicing that they would live. Stark allowed himself a smirk.

That was a few minutes ago-exactly two minutes, thirty seconds. And then, all hell broke loose. He heard the static whine over his ear piece, and tapped it irritably. The thing suddenly hummed to life like an enraged hornet as Nick Fury-ostentatiously living up to his last name, was tearing a new one into somebody.

_Something's got him really, really pissed now._

Curiously, Stark ventured, "Nick, what's wrong?"

Stark frowned at the strange silence, from Nick's end, and then the even quieter answer.

"Those assholes just launched a missile strike on Manhattan."

Even before the words had been spoken, Stark knew. He had helped design those hellish weapons with his own hands once upon a time. His sensors were already flaring in warning. Across the edge of the horizon, he saw the underbelly of heaven literally torn open as the missile clawed its way through the dark sky.

Below, the city writhed in its light, the masses oblivious to any hint of danger. Numbly, Stark pondered what sort of mercies they could possibly have in their final moments….searing heat, blinding light, skin melting to bone, burning alive, vaporization, ashes….and those would be the lucky ones.

It didn't take too long for him to calculate the odds, the bare cold equations, and the sterile numbers. One missile, fired over a civilian population containing a few million. It equaled death for too many of them. If he had the time, he could calculate the whole, brutal thing. But now, the ratio was distance until impact, how many miles lay between the streak of fire and the helpless city below him.

His one life, verses all of those people losing theirs.

A damn, brutal, simple calculation after all.

"I'm on it." Stark announced quietly. He heard Fury's puzzled silence explode with the realization.

"What do you mean, _on it?"_

"You know damn well what it means, Nick." Stark would have winced at how rude his final words sounded, had he the time and decorum. It was better this way…better to be remembered for that cocky indifference than pleading. It was better than saying goodbye.

Nick's resigned sigh was like wind scraping over a grave stone, it was so heavy.

"Come on, Nick. My blaze of glory. Literally."

Far below on the earth, Stark could imagine Fury putting a palm over his good eye, clutching the speaker and looking at it like he wanted to kill it. He could imagine the well-hidden tremble, the sick helplessness, before Nick finally answered back, with sorrow.

"Don't ask me to appreciate the fireworks, Stark. These ain't the heroics that I ever wanted."

Stark chuckled in brittle agreement. "Same here."

He flicked the intercom off, breathed and allowed himself to wince at what was coming. Never mind the aftermath; he wouldn't be around here to deal with it. The strange, savage peace in the finality was oddly comforting as it was out of place.

The missile he had to stop. The city he was now hovering over.

Splaying his palms, he shot upward in a high arc, locking paths with the metallic thing and deliberately flew in front of it.

Stark coiled into a wide circle, and was gratified to see the missile spiral after him, mimicking his flight path perfectly. He shot forward, and upward, curving into a nearly vertical loop that lead the missile further away from the city and over the gloaming water of the Harbor.

He watched as the missile shuddered in confusion at having its mission altered and its target changed so abruptly. Almost reluctantly, the missile seemed to hesitate in indecision, before arcing away from the city and spiraling in a white heated path upward.

Stark couldn't stop the involuntary flinch as the point of the missile gleamed in cold, searing clarity. Then, the thing bucked, lurched high, and pivoted, following the plumes of smoke left by his thrusters.

_Better, but not good enough._

He shot higher, soared faster, broke through the sky itself as the familiar blue faded and fire danced across his helm when he scraped through the friction of the thinning atmosphere.

It would have been a pathetic ending if he wound up being burnt to a crisp like a metal marshmallow, but that was only one of the colorful possibilities that could kill him up here.

"Sir." Stark could sense the bewilderment of Jarvis. No doubt, the poor program had run through every possible explanation and could not come up with any sane reason for Stark to flying into outer space.

"Sir, I must warn you that the suit will not be able to withstand a return trip on this endeavor."

Jarvis's delicate tact would have been hilarious if he wasn't talking about Stark's exit. It was almost cute.

"I know, Jarvis."

"Sir!" Jarvis's sudden, dismayed blurting was as loud as gunfire.

"What, Jarvis?"

"This is a one-way trip, sir."

The gentle finality in Jarvis's voice was unmistakable. Tony glanced upward at the abyss of heaven before him, the familiar blue rapidly disintegrating to a gaping maw of black.

_Here goes everything I have. _ He thought numbly.

"Jarvis, I get it."

"Shall I get Miss Potts on the line, sir?"

Stark couldn't answer. Not yet, when the weird sense of anguished love and loss suddenly curled in his gut and made the strange wet flood his eyes for a moment.

"Get Pepper."

Her picture popped up, as the signal line crawled into connecting. Stark slowed as much as he dared, knowing that the higher he flew, the weaker the signal would become. The cell phone hummed somewhere on the earth, ignored or discarded, but unanswered. Pepper's polite greeting through the voice mail answered, and seared his very soul at the sound of the beep.

"Pepper…." He breathed out, not sure what to say, or how to say it._ Pepper. Answer, Damn it! Answer so I can say my good-byes and sorries and that I love you. _

The signal grew fainter, and her beloved image faded as the connection finally fizzled out and dropped. He sighed inwardly. She deserved more closure, more finality, something far better.

Apologetically, Jarvis spoke. "I am sorry, sir. We are now too far to reconnect with Miss Potts."

"I figured that, Jarvis."

"Is there anything that you wish to communicate to Miss Potts, sir, in the event that you can't re-"

"There's no point in pissing around it, Jarvis. We both know how this ends."

"I am so sorry, sir."

So this was really it, then. He thought numbly as the atmosphere thinned out and the ice crystals splintered over his helm. The earth rolled beneath him, and the missile tore through her veils, rising like a leviathan from the depths.

The hell with it, he didn't have the time.

The stars in their indifferent brilliance. Worlds unnumbered, and unnoticed in the eternal swell of the emptiness. If this was the last thing he saw, it wasn't so bad. The thrusters spluttered in protest as Stark directed the last of his fuel to keep his flight. The missile's roar was strangely numbed by the vast abyss.

And now, here he was, clawing for altitude as the Earth soared lower. Strange how he had never appreciated the beauty of his little, effed up world until he was literally leaving it.

To be continued…


	2. On Borrowed Time

Author's Note: This is my first Iron Man/Avenger's fic, so I am still fleshing out exactly how Tony Stark could be interpreted and written. Forgive minor inconsistencies, and beat me over the gaping plot holes. I will be continuing this, even if it's only for my own sick pleasure. Enjoy.

Time.

Strange how it had gone from being an endless noose around his neck to being the one thing that all his wealth couldn't obtain. At one point, he had stared at the empty years ahead, somewhere between the nightly stupor of too much drinking, and the glossy promises of his inventions. At one point, he had looked at Pepper, and wondered how in the hell she had gone from being his irritating, self-appointed guardian angel he tolerated to something so much more. _What_ she had become to him, he didn't know, but it was precious and real, and worth consuming his last thoughts. He couldn't say good-bye, but at least he could give her the last of his time. Far better to ponder the dead possibility than the unpleasant reality of what would happen to him once the missile detonated.

All he knew was that his ending would involve fireworks and excruciating pain.

Hell, had he not been living on borrowed time all along? The arc reactor in his chest that glowed where his normal heart used to be was testament enough to know. Machines could be repaired. Parts could be replaced. But flesh burned and failed and died, and-

_Get a hold of yourself, you idiot. Now is not the time for hysterics. It's dying, not rocket science. It's doing what has to be done, it's making things right once and for all, and if this isn't penance, I don't know what else can be….._

He had been an asshole, even if he was a philanthropologist. No amount of money could clean the ledger, as Natasha had put it. And as Stark knew, all too well, it was possible to be a great humanitarian, and a piss-poor human being.

But still….did he truly deserve this ending?

It was so damn sad and strange. He had lived all of his life on the verge of an apology, and could never do more than cobble together the façade, drink like a fish, piss everybody off and drive them away.

Sarcasm, drinking, indifference, and always being alone.

No, he had put down the bottle. Sobriety was one of the few things he counted as victory.

And he had the ironic revelation in being sober that he had several legitimate reasons to keep drinking and only a few to stop. A fitting self-created hell that was as perfectly made as any other of his inventions. At this point, introspection and torturing himself with regret was pointless. Not that it would matter much longer anyway.

He was dying.

End of the story.

Maybe his stupid last act would outlive everything. Now was a very, very bad time to develop such a jackass sense of morality.

The vortex shimmered into existence, dwarfing the earth and the stars around it. It was as grotesque as it was beautiful. Gossamer strands of brilliant blue wove fire and pure white heat into a gigantic, nearly perfect circle. And hurtling behind him was the long line of heat, silver missile and the vast trails of smoke that wound their lonely paths from the earth.

He smirked. What better place for a missile to detonate than up the figurative ass of the enemy? He shut his eyes, whispered Pepper's name, and uttered the closest thing to a prayer that he could…

"God, let this work."

_And if I __**do**__ meet You after this, be nice, please._

Surely some sort of absolution could be granted. It looked as if Stark would find out, very, very soon. He arched his back, and sent every last scrap of his fire power into the death plunge of the portal. The missile slid into the mother ship's helm as easily as a needle through cloth. The weapon had carved such a deep gouge to her side that the ship was mortally wounded, even if the thing didn't blow up.

His senses faltered with his suit's last auxiliary power. From the dizzying plummet, the sound was nothing but a high shrill whine against his helm. The trail of fire and smoke was dwarfed by the splintering heavens of the mother ship's sensed, rather than felt the ripple of energy, the sudden convulsion of the universe as the abyss contracted into a blinding wave of oblivion. Almost rendered blind from the flash, he saw the universe fracture.

The ship and its minions dissolved into a gigantic fireball, as the metal carcass crumbled and buckled into the yawning black. The portal hissed and reverberated as it collapsed inward.

And then, it was as if God Himself had disemboweled the cosmos.

The sea of black was torn away in monolithic swell of blue as the missile, ship, and surrounding fleet disintegrated. The swell of energy, power, and explosion swept over him like an ocean wave as he felt himself being flung backwards at a few thousand feet an hour_._ It felt like his flesh was being sucked from his bones as he cartwheeled helplessly and lingered from being flipped head over foot and propelled backwards from the force, he found himself staring at his blaze of glory.

_God!_

Stark didn't know if the word was a prayer or an explanation for the supernova that shredded the dark, and swallowed the stars in one long roar. The tremendous sound wave collided with his suit, and he felt the bone deep force roll through the abyss and through his very skin.

The dazzling lines of energy coiled together as the core yielded. The massive break ciphered every last scrap energy towards the center like a black hole to a mere glint of wan light. Silence. A long, horrible stillness as if the collective universe was holding its breath.

.

The reverberation, he decided, would be what killed him after all. His thrusters spluttered, coughed and hitched out a last breath before they died. Without them, he couldn't propel himself upward, dodge the debris, or fly back. And plummeting a few miles back to his home planet was hardly conducive to long term survival. It should have felt like he was falling like a cannonball. He instinctively flung his arms wide, grasped empty air. Nothing. Nothing to stop any of it.

He hadn't felt this helpless since those dark moments when he first woke up in that cave with the wires sticking to his chest.

He held out a hand again, and marveled at how he could cup the earth in the palm of his hands.

If they could see him from the Earth, he probably looked like a falling star, an angel. No, probably nothing more than a big white streak that could make the folks in tin foil hats piss themselves in joy. He was falling fast. The sky scrapers now jutted into view, the glint of the Harbor…he could see it all rising far too fast.

Less than a minute to impact, less than a minute to live.

Would he be shattered like a dropped glass, die from overwhelming physical trauma or just explode? Would the suit shield him from the mercy of a quick blow and leave him to linger in agony?

No, the suit would serve as his casket, and he'd be flung to the earth, a corpse already boxed up and ready to be buried. Maybe he'd hit a patch of earth and carve a ditch big enough to be buried in. He should have been on the verge of panic, but there was only the languid, almost gentle acceptance, and a peace in the finality of it all. A long trip on borrowed time,and a blaze of glory?

_Hell, yeah._


	3. To the Earth

The falling, Stark decided, was easy. The landing would be what sucked. The bone-snapping collision with the earth. His plunging at thousands of miles an hour through the atmosphere and either being incinerated, or literally shattered. A bad mix of both? Stark couldn't tell, and he didn't wish to speculate on that. Being drop-kicked back to the Earth, he was hurdling through the atmosphere and back into the veil of heat, the layer of white clouds. Everything was faltering, from his senses to the last of his sensors. As the expanse of writhing blue unfurled and rose up to kill him, he opened his hands, let them dangle. It would have been beautiful in any other situation. If this was the last sight he had, it could have been a lot worse. No, he didn't anticipate this exit, not this quick, not_ now, God-_ but he did find a savage peace in knowing that he was exiting a hero. It was more bitter than sweet, sure, but it was damn better than the miserable drunken ending he had once resigned himself to have. It was a piss-poor consolation prize, but better than what he might have been.

_It's better this way. _

Between the dizzying plunge, spinning earth and sky, he felt like a sock in a washing machine and too disjointed to keep his stuff straight. The air was thinner, his systems were failing, and the edges of darkness were eroding what bit of awareness he had left.

_Not a problem. I sure as hell don't want to be awake when I hit the ground. I don't want to feel what's coming. _

Coherency was becoming more and more of a pain to keep, as well. The dizziness had fractured his thoughts, as Pepper's beloved face flickered before him. Had he the time, the chance, a few more moments, or that damn cell phone working, he would have told her good-bye, and sorry, and thanks and-

The burn of tears was unexpected as the clenching in his gut when he thought of her clutching that cell phone with the missed call when his dead body landed. So many times he had been around her, with the words heavy on his tongue and the uncertainty tying knots in his gut as he nearly whispered that he loved her. So many times he had nearly taken her hand, and sat her down and asked her if she wanted a future with him. Stark shut his eyes, conjured up her image, let it sink into his soul. He couldn't tell her he loved her, no, but he could give her his last thoughts, and make her name his last words. It wasn't much, she would never hear, but it was all he had left and it would have to be enough.

The dizzying black thundered over his failing senses, like an ocean wave, and this time, he didn't fight the slither of oblivion. He breathed; shut his eyes with a final thing that sounded like a prayer. Dying seemed easier that way.

_I'm sorry, Pepper. Sorry that it ends like this, sorry that I wasn't enough, sorry for leaving you and sorry for not saying I love you when I had that chance. I'm sorry, Pepper. I'm so damn sorry…._

_Hawkeye's point of view:_

"Why in the hell is he not flying?" Clint (Hawkeye) growled as he saw the thin streak of light falling from the sky. At his side, Natasha tensed and squinted. The tiny speck was too distant for her to see anything.

"Something's wrong." He whispered, as his features twisted in horror. They had watched the sky explode, the Chitari armada crumble, and the numb, bittersweet triumph that was too hard won to savor. And yet Clint could only keep his eyes trained on the barely discernible dot that arched like a meteor as it plummeted.

Natasha squinted and tilted her head upward where Clint had gestured. She could see nothing but the sky in flames and the supernova. Her eyes slid to his, her voice as taut as a fraying rope.

"Do you see him?"

She left it unspoken that by all logic, Stark would have been evaporated in the fire storm.

"Yeah." Clint answered as he scrambled high up the wall, cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, "Bruce! Stark needs help!"

_This part is from Bruce Banner's/the Hulk's view point._

The keening whine of their voices felt like a needle piercing his brain as he snarled on instinct. Forcing his human voice to answer, he growled, " What?"

Natasha rose, quaking as she answered in a broken whisper, "Stark!"

Bruce scowled, followed the direction she was pointing. His features twisted in rage as he saw the limp form tumbling. Tony. A friend. He saw the frail tendrils of exhaust spiraling behind the limp figure shot into view. With a grunt, he heaved himself over the debris, and braced himself. Kneeling to the earth, he brushed concrete with emerald bloodied knuckles. And then, he leaped.

_Stark was falling so fast. _

Bruce hit the ground like a felled tree and dove. The red and gold blur dropped like a cannon ball as Bruce scrambled to his knees, and felt the burn of overheated thrusters and cold metal in his palms. He staggered from the force of the hit, felt it thunder through his bones, wincing at the ache. He nearly dropped the limp form. Instincts screamed to fling it away.

Inches and forever ground themselves into oblivion. Bruce felt Stark's suit ghost over his skin, as he fell out of reach and tumbled towards the dirt. Bruce roared as he desperately clutched, feeling each clang of metal against the ground like a fist.

Fragmented seconds that lasted forever,and that tortured moment when Stark's helmet bounced against the rock.

_His head! Bruce realized numbly. He hit his head!_

Quaking with anguish, Bruce had to fight the tremor in his hands-hands that were made for killing and crushing, not cradling the fragile victim and keeping him from shattering. His huge fingers ghosted over the helm, too clumsy and dangerous to do anything but damage. He couldn't feel a pulse or breath-not through Tony's armor. He waited desperately for Clint and Natasha to make their frantic way over. Natasha glided catlike over the concrete, stooped to Tony's side, as Clint scowled, worriedly. Bruce lowered his huge hands, his face contorted, as he choked out in a guttural whisper, "Take him."

Clint nodded as Natasha held up a hand. "Be careful. We don't know what's broken."

Clint grimaced. "Hell, Nat. We don't even know if he's _alive."_

Natasha carefully cradled Tony's neck and torso as Clint latched his arms over Tony's knees. Together, they raised him, carefully heaved him over Bruce's palms and lowered him. Clint clawed at the helmet, and somehow triggered the release mechanism. The facial plate popped open and slid free with a cloud of smoke. Tony's black hair hung in sweated clumps over his forehead, and his lips were thinned into a smirk of finality. He looked serene as a corpse laid to rest.

"Tony? Tony!" Natasha leaned over him, a shaking hand already over Tony's sweated throat. She could barely feel his breath at her palm.

"He's alive."


	4. Damage

"Easy, Tony. Wake up. You're safe."

The gentle voice pierced his brain like a needle, and Tony tensed instinctively.

"Come on, Tony. You can do this."

He flinched at the sudden touch on his shoulder and the voice that seemed to be somewhere over his head. Pulling his eyelids open was like trying to peel concrete apart. He managed to wrench open his eyes, and saw a blur hovering nearby. His eyes fell shut, and he felt the strange, soft mattress beneath his palms. He curled his fingers into the sheets, and stilled, waiting for a bit more coherency. He was in a bed, but what the hell-

He was in a bed. Not the grave. Not dead. And whoever had threaded their fingers though his was being gentle with him.

Alive. He breathed, let that comforting thought settle in his bewildered brain like a cat curling up to sleep.

"Where the hell am I?" He hated the humiliating rasp in his voice. No point in wasting time in social pleasantries if he were in danger or held hostage. But from his own brutal experiences, kidnappers didn't tuck him in and try to coax him awake.

The answer to his question came in the form of a gentle peck at his temple, the scent of Pepper's perfume, the curl of her manicured nails ghosting over his knuckles.

"Pepper.' He breathed her name, and worked his eyes open to see her teary smile. She looked wan, and exhausted, but she had never looked more beautiful than now.

"Hey." He gave her a crooked smirk that faltered miserably when he saw the tears sliding down her cheeks.

_Tears? _

Pepper had always held herself together, hiding that core of steel under the delicate balance of professional distance and dedication. To see her crumble like this made his gut lurch in dismay.

"Pepper. What's with the waterworks? It's okay." His attempt to lend comfort was too forced and awkward. She looked into his eyes, and pursed her lips at his genuine bewilderment.

He felt her searching hand brush his temple, trail down his tense shoulder and halt at his chest. She lay her palm over the arc reactor, her long, pale fingers almost ghoulish in the blue haze. It was odd and anguishing for Tony to feel as though she were a thousand miles away even as she touched him. He hadn't felt this alone since those final moments before he blacked out and fell back to the earth.

This wasn't a happy moment. Hell, she hadn't looked this_ tortured_ since he had been kidnapped. He felt something thud on the sheets next to his elbow, and he looked down to see Pepper's cell phone.

"I missed your phone call." A broken whisper, fractured with the guilt as she started shaking.

"I missed your phone call when you were out there risking everything and I couldn't even bother with-"

"Pepper." Tony said her name, quick and sharp as a stab wound. Strange how he had the smarts to fly out of the world, and yet he couldn't find anything to say that would take her anguish.

"Pepper, it was just a phone call." He shook his head, and burrowed his hands in the sheets to hide their trembling.

"I was too far out of range for a chat anyway. You know saving the world? That sort of thing? I was busy."

She flinched as if she had been struck before she rounded on him.

"And I was busy wondering if I was watching you die, Tony! I was so scared that I-" she choked, and corrected herself, "that _we_ had lost you."

His smirk withered at that, as he scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. " Oh, come on, Pepper. I'm Iron Man, for God's sake. Takes a lot more than a fall to kill me. I'm here, aren't I?"

"No." Pepper whispered as she snatched his hand again, her fingers digging into his flesh,from tension, for emphasis, he didn't know.

"You're Tony Stark. And you _can_ die. I just hope that you learn that lesson before you actually _do."_

"Dying isn't something that you just get used to, Pepper." He drew a shaking breath and furiously blinked away the sudden wet that blurred the world.

"It doesn't matter if it's waking up hooked to a damn car battery or taking on a missile. It doesn't _ever_ get easier."

Pepper winced, knowing the hell that Tony had already endured, and wondered which one he was remembering now. She didn't ask. She couldn't.

"That much, I do know." Pepper said quietly, as she graced him with another peck to the temple. "And thank God we didn't have to face that."

"Yet." Tony regretted the brittle word as Pepper recoiled like she had been slapped.

"Sorry." He muttered the flimsy apology, but the damage had already been done.

"Tony, don't ever apologize for this. You saved the world!" Pepper's bright, forced cheer was as abrupt as it was false. Rising, she gave him a shattered grin, barely held in place by her resolve not to sob in front of him.

"I'll be back soon. Mr. Banner wanted to speak to you alone." She saw his features twist in tortured confusion as she turned and exited, leaving the room strangely empty.

Tony heard the footsteps, saw the large shadow, and then watched as Bruce hesitantly entered, rumpled jacket, mussed curls and the perpetual unease that made his fingers fidget and his eyes dart around the room. Tony had always found it odd to reconcile the soft-spoken, nervous man with the green monstrosity. Banner had always reminded Tony of a hunted animal. Maybe that frail cage of flesh and blood and never knowing when it would give way accounted for why Bruce always looked so scraped raw. Maybe the cage would hold.

"Think a shot of whiskey would help the nerves, Banner? Feel free to grab one."

Bruce looked even more wounded as he lowered himself to the chair at the bedside. Narrowing his eyes, he answered, darkly, "You know it's not a case of nerves, Tony." His lips worked in his teeth, as he said, quietly, "And quit trying to deflect, please."

Tony's mouth curved in perverse understanding. "Only if you quit crucifying yourself over the fear that the other guy is going to make an appearance."

"You can take off the suit. I can't." Bruce gave him a withering glare.

"And if you don't mind, I'm not here about the other guy."

Tony narrowed his dark eyes as he noted Bruce's fretting dread and the sudden, white stillness of the room.

"You're not here just to wish me well, are you?" He said, quietly waiting, as Bruce apologetically shook his head.

Tony sighed, the warning gathering in his gut like a storm. Swallowing back everything else, he slid his eyes to Bruce.

"Can it wait until you answer a few questions?" Tony asked uneasily, as Bruce gave him a resigned shrug. Manufacturing a forced, polite smile, he finally nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

Bruce sat back, his long-suffering patience coiled around his frayed nerves like a noose. He noted the effort it took Tony to maintain the veneer of indifference, from the way that he forced his hands to be still, to the finality of his head sitting on the pillow.

"Can I sit up?" The question was sudden and barely concealed Tony's undercurrent of fear.

"Can I sit up, or am I too damaged?" Tony rolled his head towards Bruce, rigid and waiting. Bruce only had time to breathe and blink before Tony snarled, "The damage, Banner. What is the damage?"

Bruce was nearly in tears from the guilt, as he dragged each word out like he was choking on boulders.

"I couldn't catch you in time, Tony. You were falling so fast that I couldn't stop you from hitting your head. I'm sorry."

A long silence as Tony's eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion. Raising an eyebrow, he answered, "I fell. From Space. What exactly did I hit?"

Bruce's lips tightened before he reluctantly answered, "The ground."

"The ground?"

"Yes, Tony. The ground."

Tony rolled his eyes and sighed at the irony. "I take on a missile, an alien fleet, and a supernova, and you're worried about me getting a concussion?"

Tony snorted, but the bitter chuckle died as Bruce miserably shook his head. "Tony." Bruce scrubbed a hand through his curls in frustration. "You don't get it. You _are_ damaged."


	5. Wounds Yet to See

_The vial of serum looked deceptively benign, and disgustingly so. The chemicals in the vial were a complex concoction that was the final, sickening product of years of well-concealed research, scoured from a variety of sources. Shock therapy. Psychosurgery, chemical restructuring of the brain through a steady administration of medication. Government research on interrogation techniques that would perfect answers without physical torture, and several faulty attempts at a mythical truth serum. Ice picks driven into brains, and nutcases drugged into wetting their beds as they shuffled through the hallways of institutions in a perpetual fog. The war on terror had produced enough cannon fodder to conduct more research. The public, while still reeling from the horrible images of 9/11, recoiled at the idea of torturing prisoners. They preferred to think of themselves above such "evil."_

_With that paradigm shift, came the change in torture itself. It no longer centered on the external application of pain. Now, it took on the more internal direction of simply altering a person's mind. Rather than wasting years on attempting to rehabilitate prisoners, it was much easier to simply give them a shot that would curb the deviate behavior. The serum itself was considered a miracle. The most violent of prisoners soon became peaceful, quiet inmates who did as they were told. Most of the ones condemned to lockdown were able to mingle with the general population. The violence in the prison where the experiments were conducted plummeted. It was considered a miracle. _

_The price for this peace was considered negligible at best. Those injected suffered a mild, barely noticed loss of cognitive functioning. Occasional groping for words. Memory lapses that were more annoying than alarming. Inability to retain new information, or formulate complex ideas. The cognition remained (mostly) intact. There was not notable change in personality. The higher functioning of the brain-the deviate part, the part that allowed for such bad behavior- had not been removed, but merely slowed down. The CAT scans conducted on the prisoners showed very little altering in the structure of the brain. Sacrificing a bit of the brain was considered a modest price to pay for a prisoner to function again. _

_Of course, the serum would be considered highly controversial if it were ever brought to the public's attention. It was seldom used and almost faded into obscurity completely. At best, it was not considered to be any more barbaric than the rest of chemical restraints that institutions used to control their patients. _

_S.H.I.E.L.D's interest had been sparked by the novel applications of a chemical that could efficiently neutralize enemies without firing any bullets, shedding any blood, or even be noticed immediately. It was essentially dulling the claws of the tiger a bit. Rogue enemies, those who had enough intelligence to design weapons, or pose a threat were quietly, quickly robbed of their ability to concoct any more dangerous ideas. A quick injection left enemy scientists stumbling through their experiments. Petty warlords could no longer organize attacks. Smooth talking diplomats were no longer able to negotiate. Brilliant scientific hypothesis that glimmered with promise were now silenced, because their inventors no longer had the cognition to explain them._

_For a rogue group such as the Avengers, the threats they posed, their invincibility, was more than enough to cause several governments to express their dismay and then demand that they be neutralized by any means necessary. Fresh from their triumphant saving of the world, though, the Avengers were shielded from outright assassination by the tide of public sentiment._

_However, Iron Man-Stark-had long been considered a threat to both the public and the government. The calls for him to disarm, and disclose all of his inventions had become much louder. _

_The man had taken out a missile single-handedly. And before that, he had run an industry that made the weapons believed to keep America safe from her enemies._

_It was impressive, but it also made Stark a target. _

_When Tony Stark had taken his Icarus-like plunge from the sky, the world watched, waited and prayed as he was hastily carted away from the public view and cloistered in the SHIELD-based medical facility. He had been whisked away long before any of them could even utter a protest. Nick Fury had given them all what curt reassurances he could that Stark would be "given every damn chance we can give him to pull through this." _

_Nick Fury had no way of knowing that Mr. Stark's medical team had been compromised or that Tony had been injected with the serum sometime during the transport. The betrayal had been carried out in a matter of seconds, and the syringe had been neatly disposed of before anybody was aware of it. The unknown perpetrator had quietly slipped away in the chaos with a smirk, and was largely ignored in the bustle of the hospital hallway. _

_The serum would have gone completely unnoticed if Bruce had not slipped into Stark's room and hastily took a sample of Stark's blood. Bruce's intentions were both unquestionable,and completely innocent. Tony had been to outer space, and exposed to the energy waves of both the solar system, and whatever energy the exploding mothership had given off. Tony's suit may have protected him from any side effects. Or, he could have some sort of accelerated cancer sprouting in his organs. The possibilities were both endless and cruel. Bruce wasted little time pondering the uncertainties. There were simply too many to contend with. Technically, no human had been exposed to energy waves like Tony had been. Technically, Tony shouldn't have survived it to begin with. _

_Bruce had figured if there were any developments-if Stark did awaken, or God forbid, succumb to the trauma, somebody would tell him. Bruce swallowed back the guilt as he quietly filtered the blood sample through the tubing, the microscope, and the various scans. _

_Tony's white and red blood cells were intact. Nothing amiss with the platelettes. _

_Bruce scowled at the nearly indigo fragments of some bonding chemical that attached itself to the normal, healthy scarlet of the blood cells. _

_What in the hell was this?_

_Worriedly, Bruce isolated the trace of the unknown chemical, and after teasing it out into a separate slide, scanned it against the known chemical compounds. After the computer had filtered through several files on various street drugs, chemical restraints, neurotoxins, the computer chimed a cheery announcement of a hit. _

_Bruce's blood ran cold as he slowly scrolled through the various articles published in academic magazines, the medical journals. _

_Tony had been injected with something that caused a "loss of cognitive function." Bruce had no idea how much, or what form it took. All he knew was that he somehow had to put the horrible truth into words, make Tony understand how high of a price he had truly paid. _

_Author's note: The story is now taking place at Tony's bedside where Bruce and he were conversing in the last chapter. Sorry for the choppy transition,and I hope that this is better. _

"Tony." Bruce scrubbed a hand through his curls in frustration. "You don't get it. You _are_ damaged."

The sudden, brutal words had fractured all of Tony's bravado. There was only that awful silence as Tony's fingers coiled helplessly in the sheets. Shaking his head, he slid his eyes to Bruce.

"_How_ have I been damaged?" Tony asked, shrugging. He flexed his arms, twitched his toes, and with a forced, mocking smirk, raised the blanket to give a pointed glare at his hips.

"Not damage _there._ Looks like I'm good."

The smirk wilted as Tony let the blanket flop back onto the bed.

Bruce stared at him in agony. "Tony, it's not-" He groped for the words he couldn't say, and wrenched his bag open.

"The damage isn't physical, Tony." He said softly.

Tony narrowed his eyes and tensed. "_What_ isn't physical, Banner? What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's cognitive, Tony. Up _here."_ Bruce jabbed his finger to his temple and tapped it, agitated.

Tony stared at him for a full half minute before the choked, snarled, panicked laughter burbled up.

"Oh, bullshit, Banner. If I've not fried my synapses with the booze, there's no way in hell that a fall could-"

"Tony." Bruce silenced him with a palm raised, as if he were shielding himself.

Bruce dug out his note pad, and a pencil. Tony narrowed his eyes in curiosity as Bruce scribbled out the physics equation. It was a relatively simple problem, one Tony should solve easily and rib him for insulting his intelligence in the attempt.

Sliding the pad across the table, Bruce lay the pencil next to Tony's hand.

"Can you solve this?" Bruce asked, pained and waiting.

Tony tilted his head, and gave him a smirk. "Oh, come on. I was doing this sort of thing when I was still in diapers. I graduated at _fifteen_."

Rolling his eyes, and popping his knuckles with a mocking flourish, Tony theatrically hunched over the pad, pencil poised and waiting to scribble out the answer that would take longer to write than solve.

Bruce watched as Tony stared at the simple equation. The pencil in his fingers trembled as he shut his eyes, and opened them, huge and disbelieving. The scribbled equation had been familiar. Tony had seen one like it a thousand times in his memory, and yet now, the sepia lines blurred and rippled as if covered by water. Their meaning, and his understanding- he could still recall in vague pieces of old instincts, and broken recollection.

Tony squinted, raised his fists to his eyes and scrubbed at them, as if this could grind away the punch to the gut revelation of what Bruce was trying to tell him.

Forcing his hands down, Tony resumed his glaring at the problem, the terror rising through his veins, the scream clawing at his throat like a trapped animal.

The symbols lay before him in bitter clarity. He might as well be staring at a wall of Egyptian hieroglyphics or some alien language.

Bruce's gut clenched when Tony started quaking. Laying the pencil down, Tony raised his tortured, bewildered eyes to Bruce.

"Why can't I-" The question was soft, disbelieving and nearly pleading to be left unspoken. Tony gave the page another ravaged glance, before balling it up, furious.

Flinging the page away, Tony whispered in a voice as thin as a fraying noose, "Write me another one, Banner. And this time, no bullshit."

Bruce stared at him, and sighed before writing out a simpler equation. Tony snatched it from him. Eying the equation, he snarled as he hunched over, and scribbled furiously. Bruce realized that it was frantic desperation, spiraled lines, scratched out answers and faltered attempts that filled a page and gave no answers.

"Banner, why can't I solve this problem?" Tony's voice held the undercurrent of terror, but he was almost unearthly calm as he sat back, waiting for an answer.


	6. Cringe

Fear, Tony was well acquainted with. It tasted metallic on his tongue, skittered through his head, dribbled like melting ice down his world blurred with the sudden wet that smeared behind his eyes. Growling, he scrubbed at his face. Bruce tactfully shifted his concerned gaze to the wall as Tony sighed, and forced a calm he didn't feel.

_This..this can't be happening. _

Tony squinted at the paper in his shaking hands, angrily scoured the numbers and the symbols over and over again. He was too humiliated to ask Bruce for a scratch pad to scribble out the calculations. It wouldn't matter, or help anyway. He couldn't do it.

Bruce winced in sympathy, which infuriated Tony even more.

"Why can't I solve this?" Tony barked out as he crumbled the paper and tossed it across the bed. Bruce watched as the paper fluttered like a dying moth to the floor.

Bruce sighed with the vexed air of a martyr beseeching heaven.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I know that this is frustrating." Bruce hesitated.

Tony scowled at the reluctant compassion, the pity and the unease Bruce had in speaking anything that could piss anybody off. Did Bruce think he was that damn delicate? Or was the truth that horrible?

Tony bit back the panic. No point in having a meltdown until he knew for sure what he was melting down about. And there wouldn't be any breakdowns. Hell, no. If bad came to worse, he's just lock himself in his workshop and drink himself into clarity. Maybe Bruce could join him, if it got that tortured look off his face.

Tony agitatedly folded his arms across his chest, blocking out the blue glow of the arc reactor.

"This isn't a sick joke, is it?" Tony's words were slid out quietly as Bruce could only bite his lip and grope for some sort of comforting words. He had none. He could only shake his head.

"I wish it were." Bruce answered, pained and searching for the kindest way of giving Tony the cruelest blow.

Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, mussing the dark strands into disarray. His dark eyes glittered with anguish that he quickly masked with an explosive swear word.

"Bruce? What do you know about this?" Tony leveled his dark eyes on him, waiting for an answer.

Bruce sat back, the apology forming and dying on his lips as Tony worked on rearranging his features from terror to bland indifference.

Bruce ignored Tony's clenched fists curling into the sheets, the tremble.. All that was left was Bruce giving an answer that he had no idea how to give.

"Well?" Tony barked out with a scowl. Uneasily, Bruce ran his fingers through his curls and pushed his glasses back.

"It's complicated, Tony." Bruce whispered, stalling for time.

"How did this happen?" Tony's voice was as taunt as frayed rope, and oddly quiet.

"Or, better yet, _what_ happened to me?"

Bruce sighed, and gave him a pained look of compassion. "Maybe it would be better if I explain what didn't happen first. You didn't die."

Tony squinted at that. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? I don't need a rah-rah session, Bruce. I need answers. What the hell is wrong with me?"

Bruce raised an apologetic palm. "Sorry. I'm getting to it."

Tony sighed and gave him a sideways look to avoid the direct stare that would show his mounting terror.

Bruce tactfully ignored his flinch.

"Just give it to me straight. If I want specifics, I'll ask." Tony muttered, irritably.

Bruce hesitated before reluctantly pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Tony. "You wanted it straight, so here it is."

Tony's eyes flickered as he snatched it, lay it flat over his legs and smoothed it flat with his palms. It was a lab report, of some sort, with several columns and labels. It looked almost like one of those court-mandated drug reports Tony had the misfortune of knowing about from more than one "youthful indiscretion."

"A _drug test? _I save the world, and you people worry about me getting _high?_" Tony spat in disgust as Bruce shook his head.

"Tony…"Bruce paused to mask his exasperation. "Tony, I ran the drug tests, and the blood tests and the brain scans as well."

Tony tilted his head, suspiciously. "Why? Because you were thought I was an addict?"

Bruce slammed a shaking fist against the wood. The sound was as loud as an explosion. Tony blanched, and wisely clamped his mouth shut as Bruce exhaled through his gritted teeth.

"I told you. I am getting to it."

Tony swallowed hard as Bruce exhaled again and shut his eyes for a moment.

Equilibrium restored, Bruce quietly continued, "I ran several tests for toxins, space junk, that sort of thing. I didn't have intention of finding drugs. Excuse me, it was a concern of mine that you flew into space and had contact with alien weaponry. Forgive me for trying to figure out what you may have been exposed to, and how to help you."

Bruice winced as he sat back, embarrassed at the sharp, biting tone of his voice.

Tony arched an eyebrow and shrugged. "Thanks. I appreciate the concern that is sweet of you. But why would the Chitari pump me full of _earth _drugs? And what does any of this have to do with what's happening up here?" Tony tapped his temple sharply.

Bruce's lip curled as his eyes darkened. Lowering his head, he softly snarled. "I'm getting to that."

Tony instinctively tensed, as Bruce heaved and blinked. The other guy was still writhing in his gut. Tony warily lurched back a few inches as Bruce grimaced.

"Sorry. Don't worry. The Other Guy won't be showing up. Not for this." Something like pain flickered in his gut when he saw Tony slump in relief.

"That's good to know. Sorry for pissing you off." Tony hitched a shoulder, flatly.

"You didn't." Bruce answered softly, before continuing, "But back to the topic at hand…" Bruce floundered for the words, as he ran a finger down one row of numbers.

"According to this, and this," he jabbed his finger at the different columns, "there's no trace of anything. No radiation, no abnormal cell growth, nothing. That's good. But here-"

Tony snatched the printout from his hands and ignored the way that the paper quivered, or the way that Tony's face contorted in agony before he snarled out, "I can't follow it. Any of it."

Tony heard Bruce's sharp exhalation, the way his eyebrows shot high in horror, and the way that Bruce stooped to scoop up the paper and handle it with the care one would give a holy relic. Smoothing it out again, Bruce fought to keep the tremor out of his voice as he very carefully turned to Tony.

"You can't follow _any_ of it?" Bruce peered at him over his glasses. Tony bit his lip, blew out his breath through his grimace and finally shook his head.

"No. I can't." The horrible admission untangled like a noose.

Bruce stared at him, jaw dropping and clamping shut.

Tony shut his eyes for a long moment, before impatiently snarling, "Never mind about that for now. Just tell me what I'm looking at."

Bruce gently tapped the oddly bolded number checked off in the last box of the printout.

"This here. It's an abnormality. A variation of a drug that isn't widely distributed or readily available anywhere outside the black market, according to Fury."Bruce paused to see how well Tony was following.

Tony squawked. "_What _sort of drug was it? How did it mess me up here?_"_ Tony tapped his temple, and hesitated before he shook his head, and nearly whispered, "And how long does this last?"

Bruce debated pulling out all of the data but opted against it after seeing Tony's struggle to follow even the basics of the lab report.

"Think of it as a cognitive inhibitor that disrupts both your ability to recall certain information and maybe access some higher brain processes. Your brain functioning hasn't been short-circuited, so much as it's been dulled. That's why your memories of who you are remain intact but you struggle with doing the calculations. What I can tell you is that it doesn't seem to be progressive, and it seems confined to the higher brain functions. Until some cognitive tests are done, I don't know how much damage you have, but it does seem minimal. Your personality is intact. _You_ are still you. I'm sorry. I don't know anything else yet."

Tony was brutally silent, but his fingers kept picking at the blankets as if he were searching for something to say. At long last, Tony looked up at Bruce, searchingly.

"Who did this to me?"

Bruce looked agonized as he finally answered, "I don't know that either."

Tony snarled, "Is anybody looking? Slightly curious? Or am I such an asshole that this is somehow okay?"

Bruce pushed his glasses up, uneasily, as he tried and failed to soothe the wound a bit.

"Tony, none of us think that you did anything to deserve this. How-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Tony shook his head, disgusted. "Geeze, you really do think I think it's all about me, don't you? If somebody could drug me _here,_ which is supposedly the safest place for any of us, how do you know that somebody couldn't do worse to one of you? Somebody _got through, Bruce._ Somebody broke through SHIELD's security protocols, and until you find out who, we're all in danger."

Tony's sudden chuckle was as sharp and shattered as a breaking glass.


	7. Shards

"Tony, none of us think that you did anything to deserve this. How-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Tony shook his head, disgusted. "Geeze, you really do think I think it's all about me, don't you? If somebody could drug me _here,_ which is supposedly the safest place for any of us, how do you know that somebody couldn't do worse to one of you? Somebody _got through, Bruce._ Somebody broke through SHIELD's security protocols, and until you find out who, we're all in danger."

Tony scowled at Bruce and fell into that uneasy silence again. Bruce gave him that pained, tolerant, smile, as he shook his head and scrubbed a hand through his curls.

"I've been monitoring that aspect of this situation ever since I found the traces of the drug in your system, Tony. Fury has beefed up security, we're all on high alert, and flagging _any_ sort of abnormal glitch in either a computer, or the world outside. Fury personally ran through background checks, Steve and Clint have been screening any sort of clue, Natasha has been scouring the city. I've been screening each of the team at least twice a day for any sort of indication of cognitive issues, or change."

Tony nodded, and exhaled. "And?"

Bruce folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. "Look, Tony. I _know_ you want answers, and I promise, we're doing all that we can to get them. So far, you seem to be the only one that's been affected, or even targeted. I haven't turned up anything alarming on anybody else, but that's not necessarily a good thing."

Tony's scowl deepened. "_How_ is that not a good thing? What am I missing?"

Bruce's eyes slid to his, and his jaw tightened with anger. He suddenly stood up to pace.

"A great deal of it is the nature of the attack on you, Tony. This drug was synthetic. It was customized to interact with _your _neurons and synapses to cause this cognitive loss."

Tony swallowed hard, as Bruce grimly continued, softly, "Tony, somebody went through a great deal of time and effort to analyze your brain function, your DNA, and then make a drug that could do this to you. Think of the implications."

"I am. And the implications are pretty nasty." Tony squinted in thought. "This was a deliberate hit on _me."_

Tony tapped his temple. "This is-" Tony winced, and corrected himself, _" was_ the greatest asset that I had. If somebody could take that from me with just a drug, could they take a swipe of your DNA and get rid of the Other Guy completely?"

Bruce suddenly flinched at the remark. "I'm afraid it would be much worse than that, Tony. What if somebody triggered the Other Guy and I couldn't control him or change back into Bruce?"

Tony's answer was as false as it was faltering. "Hey, the Other Guy saved my life, Bruce. Don't knock it."

Bruce uneasily wiped at his glasses. "You've seen the Other Guy in action. What he can do."

"And you also took on the Chitari and saved our asses, Bruce. Don't talk about the Other Guy as if he's some rabid animal. He's not. _You're _not."

Tony ignored the thin quiver in Bruce's voice, as he hitched his shoulders.

" I nearly killed Natasha and leveled a city. And that was one of my more mild episodes." Bruce countered, as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

Tony tilted his head. "You nearly _killed_ Natasha? Why?"

That darkness reappeared in Bruce's eyes, along with the regret and that soul-scraping terror.

"It wasn't _me._ It was the _Other Guy. _I was stressed out, and lost it, and it just happened. You have no idea how damn hard it is for me to keep from slipping." Bruce almost snarled.

Tony tensed at the sudden, sharp tone, warily. "Is there a chance that you could slip, Banner?"

Bruce gave him that sad, brutal smirk. "There's always a chance. And with this new possibility, it's only a matter of time."

Tony scowled, as he balled the edges of the sheet into his fist. "So, what in the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime? I just sit here and relearn how to count on my fingers while you wait to snap and go crazy? Is that it?"

Bruce gave him a reignited shrug. "I was 'asked'-" he wagged his fingers in the air for quotations, "by Fury to stay here on the compound until this threat is contained. And I've been working on my own little plan of managing the Other Guy, on the side."

When Bruce saw the worry flicker across Tony's face, he shook his head. "Never mind about that right now. I hate to revisit a painful subject, but I was wondering…are you up to a few assessments of your cognitive functioning?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Why the tests? I'm just two steps away from being a drooling vegetable, right?"

Bruce hesitated, before answering, gently, "Look, Tony. I know that it's a lot to digest. I'm sorry about that, but it might be easier if we knew specifically what we're dealing with."

Tony scowled again, and looked at the wall. Quietly, he asked, "Can it wait?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "It might be easier if-"

Tony wrenched his head up, and snapped, "How in the hell is _this_ supposed to get easier, Banner? It's not going away, is it? What else do I need to know?"

Bruce clamped his jaw shut, and bit back the words. "Tony. The thing is, we don't know with any certainty if this is permanent, or if it can be counteracted. We don't even know how extensive the damage is, or how bad, yet. There's just too many variables to make any specific conclusion at this point. "

Tony exhaled the breath he had been holding through his clenched teeth. "Can it wait or not, Banner?"

"Why do we need to wait, Tony? Wouldn't you rather just know so that-"

"Damn it, Banner!" Tony buried his face in his hands, and scrubbed his black hair with trembling fingers. Finally lowering his shaking hands into his lap, Tony lowered his eyes to the sheets.

"I'm not ready to deal with this, Banner. Hell, I can't even stomach the idea of this being real right now."

Bruce surrendered after seeing Tony's tremble. "Yeah, Tony. It can wait."


	8. Interlude

Bruce was nearly silent as he left Tony's bedside for the familiar refuge of the lab for some answers. He hated this. Every last bit of it. That wounded terror in Tony's eyes as he stared down at the sheet of simple equations any freshman physics major could complete with ease. Tony's withering sarcasm, slathered on over the horrible truth like an unhealed scab over a scar. And then, that suspicious wet that Tony blinked back when Bruce couldn't manufacture a miracle, or offer the false consolation of a lie. When Tony had first collided with the earth after his ten mile plummet, Bruce fully expected to find only the charred corpse, a gut-wrenching ending, and a final farewell to a hero. Each one of them had agreed to gamble with their lives when they signed on for the Avenger project. Facing mortality was simply part of the job.

_But wounds…if wounds have any mercy to them, it's that you either heal from them, or it kills you. They're not supposed to leave you a tortured fragment of who you were. If you sacrifice everything like Tony did for us all, damn it, he deserves better than __**this. **_

Bruce sighed, ran a hand through his curls, and quietly padded down the hall back to the lab. Dwelling on the issue of injustice would do no good. But, finding an antidote or at least _something_ would be far better than just abandoning Tony to his fate. Chemicals had condemned and blessed Bruce to his fate. Maybe they could do something for Tony as well.

With that shard of hope, Bruce bustled on, heedless as he nearly collided with Miss Potts.

He heard her yelp, her startled lurch to her feet, that frantic scramble of smoothing her rumpled skirt as Pepper rose from her wilted slump in the hallway. Granted, Miss Potts had been perched in a comfortable chair that was as nearly as plush as a bed. But she had been camped out here for days, only leaving to take a shower, grab a quick bite, or, Bruce suspected, a private time to cry.

She had done a masterful job of keeping her crumbling self-composure intact. Aside from a few tears that occasionally dared to trickle past her iron restraint, Pepper carried herself with the same dignity and detachment she had shielded herself with.

Apologetically, Bruce side-stepped her. "Excuse me, Miss Potts."

Miss Potts gave him a forced, polite smile. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Banner."

Her eyes slid towards the door behind him, and her smile wilted. "How is he taking it?"

Bruce awkwardly shrugged, uncertain as how to answer. Finally, he settled for a tactful evasion. "I think that he'll need time."

"Does he understand how bad it is, yet?" Her voice was as taut as a frayed rope.

"Miss Potts….." Bruce began, with a hopeless shrug. "The truth is, _we_ don't know how bad it is yet. Or even what it is we're dealing with. I don't want to offer speculation at this point. I'm sorry, I wish I could offer something more hopeful than that."

Pepper's lips thinned into a line as she lay a hand on the door handle. She glanced at him over her shoulder, with a false, wan smile.

"I appreciate the attempt, Dr. Banner. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance in helping Mr. Stark."

"I will."

Bruce politely excused himself, and left Pepper standing in the hallway, with her hand on the door handle, the thoughts pounding in her skull, the distance of a few footsteps, and the dubious attempt to offer Tony some comfort.

She had never felt as awkward, or unskilled at helping him as she did now.

_Never mind that, Pepper. Deal with this situation as it unfolds. _

She knocked, hesitantly, and was rewarded with Tony's sarcastic answer of, "I'm not available, leave a message."

Her lips quirked. Thank God Tony was still Tony, even after this.

"Tony. It's Pepper. Can I come in?" She heard the sounds of sheets being tossed on a bed, shuffling, and was startled when the door was abruptly yanked open.

Tony looked like hell. His dark hair stood up in a few erratic spikes, and he was sprouting the beginnings of a beard. His eyes were scraped raw, oddly shining, and his false, bright smirk was nearly withering.

"Hi." He squinted at her, taking in the weariness of too many nights hovering at his bedside, the fear, mingled with what Pepper might consider love, had she not been worrying so much about him dying over the past week.

Hi was a piss-poor thing to say in the situation, but Tony had nothing else at the moment.

"May I come in, Tony?" Pepper asked the question with an odd formality that made Tony arch an eyebrow.

"Actually, I was hoping that you would join me in going _out."_ Tony tossed over his shoulder, as he turned to shut the door.

Pepper stared at the vacant hallway, and then worriedly at Tony. "Tony, are you sure that you can? I mean, it's so soon after you-"

"I'm talking about a quiet stroll outside of my room, not flying to outer space. Now, I'd like you to join me, if it's not too much trouble for you. Is that alright, Miss Potts?" He nearly snarled.

When he saw her eyes widen, and her fearful inching backwards, Tony winced in remorse.

"I'm sorry." Sighing, he scrubbed a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, Pepper. You didn't deserve that. This whole brain-damage issue? It's hard to deal with. For all I know, it may affect my ability to control myself."

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "Tony, you never struggled with controlling yourself."

When she saw his coy smirk, she gave him a playful scowl. "That's _only_ because you never bother with self-control in the first place."

"And the problem with hedonistic pursuits is what, exactly?" Tony groused as Pepper gave him a tolerant smile.

He gently draped his arms around her waist, and wheedled, "Please? I'm going stir-crazy here."

After all that he had endured, asking for time away from his prison was a reasonable request that scared the living hell out of her.

She nodded, and Tony gave her the first real grin that she had seen in ever so long.

"Exactly where do you want to go, Tony?" She asked, cautiously, as he gave her a shrug.

"It doesn't matter where we go. I just need some air."

Tony gave her another smirk as he mockingly offered his arm. She rolled her eyes, but slid her arm to his side, and allowed him to escort her out of the room.


	9. Solidarity

The first thing that Pepper noticed was Tony's uneasy silence. Normally, he'd give her a kiss in greeting, or at least a smirk. Not this tense, rigid fear, and this hesitation in something as simple as leaving his room.

_Oh, Tony, what has this done to you?_

Pepper wondered in silent anguish. As if somehow reading her thoughts, Tony gave her a false, faltering attempt at a grin that never met his eyes.

Tony only squinted at the hallway, with the air of a hunted animal. Pepper barely hid the wince of realization.

_He's afraid of coming out of his own room now? Has this damage gutted him __**that**__ much?_

"Tony." She prompted, as she held her arm out towards him. "Come on. You've been cooped up for too long. It will do us both some good to get some air."

He hesitated, then narrowed his eyes and stared at her open hand.

Tony's jaw tightened as he nearly snatched her hand in one of his and turned to slam the door shut with the other.

"Come on. Let's go." He said curtly, even as he clutched her hand like a tether.

At first, Pepper thought that Tony had some sort of idea where he wanted to go in his request for a short walk, but in reality….this was hardly a walk. Less than a week ago, Tony would have been charming his way out of this tension, this unnatural silence that had fallen between them. Less than a week ago, Tony had been whole, mentally intact, cognitively functioning, and able to glide through any stilted awkwardness with his infamous charm.

Troubled, Pepper turned to face him. "Tony? What's wrong?"

He grimaced as he gently brushed past her, made his way down the hall a few more steps, and abruptly halted. Pepper tactfully ignored the shaking hand that Tony had clenched over the door knob, that small sharp exhalation of the swear word.

Breathing out hard, he shook his head. "What do you say we stay in tonight?"

She glanced around at the Spartan walls that had become far too familiar over these last few days.

"Tony, are you sure? I thought you wanted to get out for a bit."

"I changed my mind." Tony gave her a failed attempt at a nonchalant smirk, and hitched his shoulder.

She arched an eyebrow. "Tony, what is it, really? You just said you were getting stir-crazy. It would do you some good to have something to stare at besides this room."

He folded his arms, scowling, and opened the door. Dubiously, Pepper followed him back into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Tony ignored her and flopped onto the bed. Tucking his hands behind his head, he glared at the ceiling. With a sigh, he waved a hand towards her in dismissal. "You can leave, Pep. I'm not keeping you here." He said, curtly.

Pepper stiffened at the harsh words as if she had been struck. He heard her sigh, another one of those long, soft scrapes of breath, like a prayer for patience…he hated that.

"Tony, I know this is hard."

He lurched upward, and twisted around to face her. 'You have no idea how hard this is."

He jammed his thumb hard over the arc reactor, the pale light swathing his fingers, as he snarled, "_I_ designed this. I built an arc reactor with left over scrap metal in the middle of a damn desert. I invented a suit that I used to take on an alien fleet, and it was all possible because of what was _here."_

He tapped his temple, and let his hand fall into his lap. Giving her a brittle smirk, he shook his head with a vicious choking snicker. "And now, I'm two steps away from being a mental vegetable. I've lost everything, Pep, and it's not coming back. "

He felt the mattress dip, the warmth of her fingers gently lacing over his chin. He let her roll his face towards hers, but could not answer the wordless questions in her eyes.

"Not _everything."_ Pepper whispered. "You haven't lost _me_. Tony. Don't shut me out .Please." Her eyes burned with tears that she could barely blink away.

Tony wrapped one hand around the wrist she had draped over him, and felt the delicate bones flicker beneath her skin.

"You know, Pep….you're right. You've lost _me." _ He shrugged out of her grip, and rose to his feet, ignoring her bewildered pain as he attempted to flee the aftermath.

"How can you say that?!" Pepper's spluttered question was as hard as a slap. "After everything we've been through and all that's happened? Do you have any idea what it's like for me, to constantly worry and wonder if you're even alive? To fear that every time the phone rings, it's somebody telling me that you've gotten yourself killed? I thought that I had lost you, Tony. Believe me when I tell you this, regardless of how hard and awful it gets for you…and _us._ I'd rather have you here, as you are, regardless of how damaged you think you are than not have you here at all."


	10. Transfiguration

Tony folded his arms across his chest, sighed, and flopped back into the soft refuge of the crumpled sheets. Exhaling loudly, he stared at the sepia ceiling, the same one that he had been staring at for nearly a week now. He had very gently sent the bewildered Pepper on her way. He forced himself to ignore the pained wince she gave him, as she graced his temple with a kiss. She finally left him to his much needed solitude only after his false reassurances he would be alright.

Her perfume still lingered, a faint, floral scent that cloyed at the air like an unwanted ghost.

Hell, he didn't deserve this damn head wound, and he didn't deserve her.

Tony growled in frustration, rolled over on his stomach, and punched the pillows, hard.

This was so stupid. The last time he had spent this much time in a bed was when he was nursing a hangover from hell, and the headache felt as if somebody was driving a spike through his temples.

He knew that he would have to eventually emerge from his room, to take Bruce's damn cognitive assessments, to learn how to live half a life with the scrambled scraps of his once formidable intellect.

Was he a vegetable, now? Would it get worse? Would he regain _anything?_

Tony sighed. Those questions could only be answered by Bruce's battery of tests. It wasn't a matter of Tony learning the outcome, it was his fear that it was hellish as it seemed now.

_Two steps away from being a drooling vegetable. How could things get any worse than this?_

Musing, Tony recalled an idle night, a few years ago, where he was perched on his couch, nursing a stiff drink, and flicking through the depraved offerings of late night television.

On that night, he had chanced to stumble on a historical documentary of treatment for the mentally ill.

He stared at the wan glow of the screen, somewhat transfixed, and sickened by the grainy images of a poor nut job being strapped down to a gurney. Some bastard, wearing a white coat, neatly tapped the ice pick through the poor patient's skull, carefully sliding the instrument through the eyelid, and then yanked it out with a flourish.

Tony still winced at that.

He shut his eyes, slammed his head back into the warmth of the pillow, and savagely yanked the blanket over his shoulder.

Twisting in the sheets like an animal in a snare, Tony finally kicked the blanket away with a snarl. The insomnia had settled into a dull ache behind his eyes, and he stared in resignation at the ceiling that held no answers.

What in the hell was he supposed to do now? Grousing irritably, he rolled over on his side, squinting in the wan light and longing for the guts to pick up the phone and con Pepper into coming over, if only to get him through.

His hand hovered above the indifferent metal of his phone, and then he let his hand flop back to the sheets. Pepper deserved a night of sleep after everything she had been through on his behalf.

He rolled over again with a resigned sigh. He wasn't going to sleep tonight.

His bitter thoughts were interrupted by the sudden hum of his cell phone, as it buzzed and clattered like an angry hornet on his side table.

Startled, Tony blearily rose to his elbows, groped for the phone, and squinted at the number across the screen.

"Stark." Bruce's voice was as sharp unexpected as it was abrupt. "You need to come to the lab. _Now."_

Tony scowled into the phone. "Banner. It's a bit late for a chat."

"This isn't a social call, Stark. Get down here. Now." Bruce answered acidly.

Tony sighed. "Fine, Banner. Better get out some wine and roses to make it worth my while, eh?" He hung up before Bruce could answer.

Irritated but grateful for the distraction from his thoughts, Tony kicked aside the blankets and rolled out of bed.

The lab itself had always been a sterile haven, serene and set with gleaming metal and the familiar hum and glow of machinery and possibility. Until a few days ago, entering a place like this would have felt like home. Now, Tony only scowled at his surroundings, when the thought curled in his brain that he may never have the smarts to work on any of it again.

He sighed, and shoved the thought aside, but not before wondering if he'd ever get past that sudden, vicious realization again.

Ignoring the myriad monitors, beeping, lights, and equipment, Tony idly turned around, wondering where Bruce was, and what was so damn urgent. The lab was housed in a huge, specially adapted room, with various corridors spiraling back through the metal doors that flanked him at all sides.

"Banner?" Tony called out. Normally, Banner would be hunched over one of his chemistry sets, or tinkering with a project of some sort, in the center of the control room, where all his equipment had been secured for such a purpose.

"Banner?" Tony called louder, scowling at the strange, empty silence. It wasn't as if Tony had just strolled down here for a casual chat, Banner had expected him.

So where the hell was Banner?

Uneasily, Tony palmed the metal door, debating if he should politely wait a few more seconds, and ignore the weird fear that made the bile rise to his throat.

"Banner!" Tony cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed loud enough for his shout to echo through the massive room.

Nothing. No noise, no answer, nothing.

What in the hell was going on? Worried now, Tony shoved his way through the metal doors, ignoring their flapping clang against the walls.

"Stark." Banner's voice was as sudden and sharp as a whiplash, rising up from the floor.

"Banner!" Tony barked out in surprise, and then outright fear. The first thing that Tony saw were Banner's well-worn leather shoes sprawled out in the corner. Tony sucked in a sudden breath when he saw Banner curled up in the corner, between the walls and trembling, hands white-knuckled and buried against his temples. Tony dropped to his knees. Banner looked like he was in agony.

"Banner, what the-"

"Get out!" Banner growled, a whispered hiss slithered out between his clamped jaws.

"No can do. Not when you're in this state." Tony kept his voice admirably level, as Banner choked and writhed like an animal in a snare.

Banner clawed the glasses from his face and sent them skittering across the room.

"Banner, what is going on? Do I need to call medical or-"

"_Leave, damn it!"_ Banner snarled, as he tensed and exhaled through his clenched teeth. Tony saw the eerie emerald sheen in his dark eyes, the way that Banner hunched like a feral cat ready to spring.

Tony watched as Banner hunched over, clutching his arms against his rib cage, as his muscles rippled and ballooned underneath his shirt. The emerald shade engulfed Banner's flesh in one bright, sickening flood, as Banner staggered, nearly collapsing before he crashed into the wall.

Clawing at his temples, Banner roared as the last shreds of his humanity, bones, flesh, body, fell away like the tatters of his shirt.

"The Other Guy?" Tony breathed out in stupid shock, as Banner heaved out another snarl.


End file.
